Word: em
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Whup 'em or Weep. Most of that money was gouged from the hard-baked Western soil in which the sport has its roots. A cross between the pioneer plow horse and the Mexican mustang, the quarter horse was bred for the short bursts of speed needed to herd cattle. To fill the lonesome hours, cowpokes began match-racing for payday stakes and, as one oldtimer put it, "if you couldn't whup the guy you beat, you didn't get your money." Before long, horsemen were organizing races at state and county fairs across the West. Whole...
Good question. In Hang 'Em High, the year's grisliest movie so far, those seeds are tended until they burst into bloody bloom. Fresh from his success in a long series of Italian oaters, Clint Eastwood plays a leathery loner out to clean up a dirty territory. An unauthorized posse mistakes Eastwood for a murderer and decides that he is nooseworthy, but a kindly marshal helps him escape. Clint spends the rest of the picture ricocheting off some loquacious character actors, getting leaky with bullet holes, and running the lynch mob to earth. Along the way, the necrophilic...
...class was visited last year by a young police officer, I looked with skepticism on the idea of his communicating anything to a group of intelligent, liberal-minded, middle-class students. But after the first awkward exchanges, my initial impression softened, for here was no hardened, authoritarian, put-'em-in-their-place cop but rather someone who thought, acted, and talked on our level. We fell into easy discussion and learned not only what he did as a cop but also why he was doing it and how it felt to be doing it-that he was sometimes scared...
...commission proposes several methods by which it hopes to root out the Spockian menace. Among them: a government sponsored book to replace Baby and Child Care and an attempt to get the kids to the negotiating table. If necessary, Rubble adds, "we'll sock it to 'em with a Small-Scale Enlightening Catastrophe...
CEBUS. This refreshing infusion of talent came just in time: the old sock-it-to-'em pitch was making a lot of people punchy. The only way to sell certain analgesics was to make the viewer queasy just watching: faucets dripped acids into the stomach, hammers clanged on anvils in the head. It was getting increasingly difficult to tell whether the little old winemaker was getting tanked on Drano, or pushing Ken-L Ration for hungry Living Bras. Gradually, after 20 years of hard-sell harangue, viewers developed a kind of filter blend up front. They did not turn...